


wherever you are

by sunkyushine (nekomimichan)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Confessions, Drabble, Headcanon, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Inspired by Music, Kim Junmyeon | Suho-centric, Letters, M/M, Memories, Post-Break Up, Reminiscing, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekomimichan/pseuds/sunkyushine
Summary: Junmyeon writes a very last letter to the love of his life Yifan, who once had cried at the airport.or; "every night I almost call you just to say it always will be you"
Relationships: Kim Junmyeon | Suho/Wu Yi Fan | Kris
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	wherever you are

**Author's Note:**

> [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLP3RCDsmNIPdwuxjbuWNbDAoUeJ3yJPvS) are the songs i listened to while writing, idk why it's those songs specifically i don't even remember making that playlist when i first wrote this at 2am crying--  
> anyways, hope you enjoy reading~

Junmyeon picks up his fancy fountain pen with the rich navy blue ink. It is the middle of the night in early October, and he is sitting by his oak study desk, under the warm yellow light of his grey table lamp, unable to sleep, head full of thoughts.

He's haunted by a particular memory once again, of a man he once loved so dearly and was loved by so, of tears on cheeks and jasmine-scented shampoo. It's not the first time, but it's different; the emptiness inside and the questions twirling inside his mind slowly making their way down to his throat, wrapping around his neck like barbed wire. His fingers absent-mindedly caress the paper, feeling its texture, thinking of a way to word all these lingering feelings.

Junmyeon wonders whether Yifan remembers the day he had held Junmyeon's hands in his for the very last time. Leaning his head against Junmyeon's shoulder, how tired he was that day during the plane ride, how quickly his head had fallen on Junmyeon's shoulder.

Junmyeon wonders. He remembers Yifan holding his hand throughout the entire ride, he wonders if Yifan remembers it too. He remembers how much smaller his hands were when they were nestled warmly between Yifan's. He writes, words flowing on their own accord, Junmyeon doesn't have to concentrate on what to write; he's lost in the memories, of Yifan not letting go of his hand even for a second, of Yifan's head on his shoulder, of the sweet jasmine scent coming out of his light brown hair strands.

Junmyeon remembers, caressing the inside of Yifan's palm with his thumb, drawing small circles, first clockwise and then backwards. Because he knows, he knew, that Yifan felt at ease whenever Junmyeon was by his side, an aura of complete serenity, he knows Yifan sleeps so soundly when he has a Junmyeon to hold onto.

Back to the plane ride, a lot to think about. It wasn't a very long ride, just one city to another, and with Yifan cuddled up by his side, time only seemed to pass a lot faster. Junmyeon remembers Sehun's wicked grin as he made fun of the two of them huddled close to one another like little owls, his hair the exact same colour as Yifan's, minus the jasmine. He remembers scolding Sehun to be quiet so as not to wake Yifan up, but a part of him knew that there was no way Yifan would wake up; because when Yifan holds Junmyeon's hand and sleeps by his side, he would sleep like a baby, out like a light.

 _My Dear_ , Junmyeon writes, _you were crying at the airport that day_. 

Although he had tried to hide it from Junmyeon, Junmyeon knew, Junmyeon remembers. With his brown suitcase in hand, Yifan was standing a few steps behind, cautious, teary eyes fixed on Junmyeon. Can call it a sixth sense of some sort, but Junmyeon clearly remembers the tingling feeling of Yifan's eyes staring, he clearly remembers how it felt when Yifan was looking at him. He wonders, if they ever crossed paths again, would he still be able to sense his gaze? Or would Yifan ever gaze at him the same again?

Junmyeon remembers mentioning this to Yifan, that he could feel it whenever Yifan looks at him, even when he's out of his sight. And Junmyeon remembers the eyebrow raise and the grin Yifan gives him in return, kissing him on the tip of his nose, long before he pressed his lips on Junmyeon's nose for the last time, at that airport. A soft, tender peck.

The first flow of tears had landed silently on his cheekbones, without a word to Junmyeon. But Junmyeon knows, _he once knew_ , that Yifan can't ever stand his guard against him. It was a lost cause when Junmyeon turned on his heels, Yifan must have sensed it too, with the first step Junmyeon took towards him Yifan had turned his head to the side, his head hanging low and his eyebrows furrowed. _You should've known, darling_ , he dips the pen into his ink tube, not caring about the few drops that stain the corner of the paper, _you should've known that I wouldn't let go of it, of you, so easily_.

Another point he'd like to make, another haunting memory, keeping him away from the mirrors when his hair is bleached blonde to be dyed again to another colour. Maybe red, maybe pink and maybe a light brown; but never blonde. Not yet, at least. He remembers how much Yifan had liked it when Junmyeon dyed his hair blonde for the first time, for such memories are not so easy to forget. Memories of Yifan constantly running his long fingers through Junmyeon's blonde hair strands, not bothering to quit it even after all the scolding they had received from their stylists, memories of Yifan in his whole 1,90 metre glory grinning like a naughty schoolboy while being lectured, proud of the havoc he's wrecking. It's not so easy to forget how Yifan puts his hands behind his back and holds onto his own elbows in a Morpheus-like stance, and how he lets go off one hand to hold onto one of Junmyeon's without letting anybody see, holding on tightly because Yifan knows, _Yifan once knew_ , that lectures and scolding terrify Junmyeon, for the crippling fear of failing to make things right, failing to handle all the responsibilities put on his shoulders by people who expect so much of him haunts him at night, makes him lose sleep. The strong hold of Yifan's fingers would speak louder than anything else, " _I'm here for you, Junmyeon._ " he would say, with just the touch of his hand. Junmyeon remembers it all too well.

 _Lover_ , Junmyeon writes, sentimental, his tears messing with the consistency of the quality ink. Because he remembers that when he cradled Yifan's face in his hands that day at the airport, he wanted to speak to Yifan the same way the warmth of Yifan's palms do; " _I'm here for you, Yifan_." is all Junmyeon wanted him to feel. He remembers how hot Yifan's tears were as Junmyeon catched them one by one with his fingertips patiently, how he wiped them away from his cheeks, fondling his cheekbones with his thumbs.

A broken smile sets on his face now, thankful yet incomplete; rekindling the ashes of what once was a great fire burning deep inside his chest, safe and warm, it leaves burn marks on his windpipe now. Because that day, Junmyeon remembers, that day while Yifan was crying, they were close enough for the tip of his nose to almost touch the tip of Yifan's nose, and the lack of such proximity hurts more than ever as Junmyeon keeps poking a stick at the dying fire.

He was crying so quietly, Junmyeon remembers. Persistently quiet, speaking not even a single word to Junmyeon no matter how much Junmyeon had tried, but not resisting either when Junmyeon had reached to hold him. No one dared to disturb them, no one approached their zone as Junmyeon hugged and kissed and comforted Yifan, the taste of the salt of his tears mixed with his lip balm and Yifan's sunscreen comes back to him just as if he'd just tasted it. Junmyeon remembers feeling like the rest of the world didn't exist and never existed, like it was just the two of them all along, just him, and his dearly beloved Yifan, who once cried at the airport.

 _I was blonde then_ , he writes, pushes his black hair back and away from his sleep-deprived eyes, _haven't been blonde since_ . He hesitates, this is new, personal information. Would Yifan like to know about this? Does he already know? Does it matter? _Thought I should mention, just in case_.

Junmyeon remembers the panic in everyone else's eyes while Yifan was sobbing with his face inside Junmyeon's palms. Not speaking a word, to Junmyeon, to anybody else; just crying. It was an odd situation, yes, because Junmyeon remembers that whenever Yifan felt filled up to the brim so much as to be on the verge of tears, his words would reach Junmyeon first. His gorgeous face would make its way towards the crook of Junmyeon's neck, hushed confessions whispered against his throat. Marking his skin with trails of tears.

Just before the flight it was, when Yifan had to stop himself because they almost missed their flight, and he held onto Junmyeon's hand for dear life while climbing the stairs up to the plane's entrance. When they made it to the group's seats, they took the two at the very back and everyone else had left them be. Junmyeon remembers Yifan immediately lifting up the armrest and snuggling into his chest, his head on his shoulder, hands still intertwined. Junmyeon remembers the soft sigh Yifan had let out when he moved to wrap an arm around his much wider shoulder, and how his strained shoulders slowly got loose as Junmyeon played with his hair, the jasmine scent.

It's crazy how much in detail he remembers all of this when they had so much more than a sad ending, like a picture taken right before a catastrophic event, it perhaps leaves a stronger impact. Junmyeon remembers asking whether Yifan was okay to talk, and getting a little whine in response, the noise of his clogged nose. Junmyeon remembers a few more tears dripping down on his neck when he pressed his lips to Yifan's forehead, the sound coming from Yifan's throat as he swallowed down a lump. It's all clear as the daylight, his hands running through Yifan's hair, pulling him closer, caressing his temples up to the roots of his hair; another kiss on his forehead, the intense yet sweet, calming smell of jasmine as Junmyeon rubs his nose lovingly against Yifan's light brown bangs, another kiss planted right there.

 _You had cried on my shoulder before as well, my dear_ , it all comes back in tsunami tides, and it's as though Junmyeon has always longed for the ocean, _I know I had kissed you countless times before_.

Yifan had been losing sleep lately, Junmyeon was aware. Travelling too much and too often wears him out, _or at least it used to_ , and although he doesn’t even have the energy to move a single muscle, he can’t get not even an ounce of sleep, restless even when Junmyeon holds him so tight. It all comes back to him now, when Junmyeon too is so tired but so restless at nights, unable to sleep. He writes, because even in his worst, most restless nights Junmyeon knows he’d still hold Yifan close, even if Yifan squirms like worm until the morning light, because Junmyeon knows, Yifan will find his peace as long as he’s in Junmyeon’s arms. Because he used to.

That day after the airport Yifan hadn’t spoken a word, especially running away from Junmyeon. His smile never reached his eyes and Junmyeon remembers feeling so useless, so lacking against the tension in Yifan’s sunken shoulders.

Yifan had lifted his head when the plane had landed, avoiding Junmyeon’s gaze, _but my dear don’t you think it was not obvious to my eyes that your eyes were trying to hide something from me_ , he tells him. Because Junmyeon can, _could_ , read Yifan like an open book, and even when Yifan is not looking, Junmyeon could see right through him. Because when Yifan reached for Junmyeon’s hand as he got up, Junmyeon could see that it was out of habit. He gave him some space, let Yifan walk a few steps ahead, but he hadn't withdrawn his fingers out of the spaces between Yifan’s fingers.

A few nights before the airport incident, Junmyeon remembers, Yifan had twisted and turned and squirmed in the bed until the morning. This time, Junmyeon couldn’t get a hold on him, and couldn't stop him from throwing himself to the narrow balcony. He knew he had some stuff clouding his head, but never speaking a word whenever Junmyeon tried to ask. _Wanted to give you some space, darling_ , Junmyeon confesses, he doesn’t think Yifan knows. 

He doesn’t think Yifan knows that he was wide awake when he had decided to lie alone in the bed rather than go after him. It was an awful wait, awful, because Junmyeon remembers that he wanted to cling onto Yifan and chase all of his troubles away, but he was mindful enough to let the man breathe, leave him alone with his thoughts and with the moonlight, with some fresh air. Junmyeon remembers Yifan coming back to his bed with the first lights of the dawn, cuddling him up, face snug against the crook of his neck and hands intertwined.

That night of the airport incident, Junmyeon remembers, Yifan was a bit out of it on the stage. A few mistakes he’d made here and there, _it’s okay, it doesn’t matter_. Junmyeon really just wanted to cheer him up, he was right by his side that night on the stage, couldn’t stop himself. While they were smiling at the cameras and throwing hearts to the crowd with their joined hands, and when Yifan got lost in his thoughts as he looked at him, got lost in Junmyeon; Junmyeon was right there, right by his side.

And the pictures of the two of them from that night broke the internet for the following few months, Junmyeon remembers, they were the talk of the town. **_His very last concert_ ** , they had written about him, **_Do you see how he looks at Suho?_ **

And Junmyeon, all on his own, had wondered whether people had really seen the way Yifan looked at him, _I still wonder_ , another confession. Because if everybody else had seen it, from their friends to complete strangers, how could Junmyeon, the one who had been right there on the spot all along, couldn’t see it at all, _I was there_ , he writes, talking more to himself than to Yifan now, questioning, _Shouldn’t I have seen it?_ , it’s been years over years, and the question still bugs him inside his head.

A long, _long_ time has passed since Yifan cried at the airport, and of course a lot of things have changed since then. _You should know more or less_ , Junmyeon writes, because he’s watched Yifan dance around the subject in interviews regarding his past, _and I know more or less about you too_ . Another thing that bugs him, a music video released on his birthday, some songs he listens to from time to time, he confesses it all. _You’re going through some ups and downs nowadays_ , he drips the pen into the ink again, presses the back against his bottom lip, _But you’ve climbed up plenty of stairs on your own way, I know you’ll climb at least just as much more_.

This letter is different, Junmyeon thinks. Although it is not the first time he’s written Yifan words of confessions and of good wishes through the medium of his rich blue ink, it’s different, somehow. He’s calling him _darling_ again, and _love_ , and _dear_ . He hesitates, _maybe I shouldn’t be calling you such names_ , ‘cause he’s not really sure how things are on Yifan’s side. 

But one thing Junmyeon knows for sure is that he’s holding onto his own hand at the darkest of the nights, stopping himself from reaching to his phone lying enticingly close, right by his bedside table; because even though he knows that Yifan’s number has changed long ago, almost every night Junmyeon _almost_ calls him.

 _I don’t know where else have you cried after you cried at the airport, sweetheart_ , Junmyeon writes, because he really doesn’t know, not even a clue, and it’s odd, eerie. But what Junmyeon knows is that nobody else had such a sweet jasmine scent, the tone of the brown of Yifan’s hair. He wants Yifan to know that nobody else held Junmyeon’s hand the way he did, through trials and errors Junmyeon has finally acknowledged.

Junmyeon wonders. He doesn’t really know how Yifan handled their abrupt, ambiguous breakup, he wonders if Yifan overthinks about it too, losing sleep, squirming like a worm. Sometimes Junmyeon pulls an all-nighter on his balcony too, _but I don’t leave behind trails of cigarette cinders_ , like Yifan used to, sometimes.

It’s unsettling, because whenever Junmyeon thinks he’s finally getting over it, the next thing he knows someone has bought a jasmine-scented fabric softener, he hears the familiar laughter on the radio, or something trivial reminds him of him again. _I’m not all alright, yet_ , he writes.

Junmyeon goes through the letter, skimming over his words, he’s babbled too much it seems. Maybe Yifan wouldn’t read it this far, because Junmyeon doesn’t really know what kind of person Yifan has become after he cried at the airport, but if he were to give Yifan this letter back when he was crying at the airport (which would probably cause some serious damage in the natural flow of space and time ) Junmyeon figures he would’ve diligently read this far, that’s what he counts on as he carries on writing.

 _Dearest Yifan_ , he starts again in the middle, abruptly. Suits them right.

 _There’s a lot about your life that I do not wish to know of after you’ve left me, but I hope everything’s alright_. Barbed wire chokes him harder, tears pricking at the pits of his eyes again. Because Junmyeon has loved Yifan since he was eighteen, as his body progressed through its final growing phases he knows he’s bloomed towards Yifan’s touch, shaped by him like clay. Junmyeon knows his cheeks would probably fit just right between Yifan’s palms. _I’m not going to blame you for anything_ , he writes, takes in a deep breath, _this is just a confession letter_. And he still loves him.

 _Dear Yifan_ , he runs his free hand through his messy black hair.

 _I hope you’ll be very happy, sweetheart. Even though I’m no longer a part of it, I hope life treats you kind._ Junmyeon could wish him nothing but joy, and happiness and from the most sincere parts of his heart, he wishes him love.

Junmyeon looks at the envelope on the farther corner of the desk, the receiver's information already written on the back of it, found from a quick google search accompanied by a glass of wine. He stares, long and deep in thought. 

_Yifan_ , he starts this time, addressing him more casually than ever. This is new.

This may not be the first letter to him that Junmyeon’s writing, but it most certainly will be the last, the final. _I’m writing to you to say that you still cross my mind some nights right before I go to sleep_ , he dips the fountain pen into the ink again, _I’m writing to you to confess that despite looking at pictures of us from that night countless times I still can’t see the things you were hiding from me in your eyes, just like how I couldn’t see it that night as well_. 

And it bothers him, it bothers him so much. How could he be so blind, Junmyeon can’t know. Maybe if he had seen it that night, that Yifan had more than a bit of worry, that it wasn’t like the usual stuff, maybe he would’ve confronted him. Maybe that way Yifan wouldn’t have left. Maybe that way they would’ve been happier, together. Or maybe they were bound to fall apart. It bothers him.

 _Yifan, sweetheart_ , his pen writes, navy blue on the fresh white paper.

 _If you were to ever find yourself crying at an airport again, know that I would’ve wiped your tears still, if I were to be there_. Because Yifan has to know this, carry this like a ship carrying its anchor no matter how heavy it is, take it with herself wherever she sails. Because Junmyeon is writing to Yifan tonight to tell him that he always has an harbour to safely stock his anchor at.

_I hope this letter reaches you, wherever you are_.

_Love, Junmyeon._

It's the middle of the night, not even his demons are awake and Junmyeon is standing in front of his mailbox outside in his pijamas and bunny slippers. His fingers trace the information on the envelope, and the stamps. It's the middle of the night and Junmyeon is all alone with his fears and tears and heart and soul poured into the thin sheet of paper held cautiously between his palms.

It's the middle of the night, _now or never_. Junmyeon takes a deep breath.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nexomimichan) and/or [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/nekomimichan) if you'd like, thank you for reading <3  
> \----  
> 


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